We're back in the old house, with its dirty walls and childlike charm. I'm sitting on the carpeted floor of my bedroom, holding a stuffed animal, and playing with my dad. I don't remember much of what we were doing, other than tiny bits and pieces of conversation, and giggling at his E-rated jokes. I see pictures in my head of my old room, with its lavender colored walls painted to look just like Sabrina's room, my old art put up on the wall with an excessive amount of tape, and a window out to the driveway and the rest of the neighborhood. We'd play with the stuffed animals, mimicking how they'd walk by bouncing them up and down, and I would be able to point to each one and give its name without a second of hesitation. It was before I knew how dangerous the world could be, and how sad it was. Before we had to move, and before I really had a grasp on much of anything. I was blissfully oblivious to everything , and perfectly so.
